


The Disappearance of Khulan Gorro

by Sister of Silence (EmpressofMankind), templarhalo



Series: Stranger Things AU [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Lovecraftian, Multi, Psychological Horror, alternative universe, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 03:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20351773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/templarhalo/pseuds/templarhalo
Summary: The first part of this Warhammer/Stranger Things cross-over. It loosely follows the events of the first episode of season one.





	1. Dating is Difficult

Arlette Amon Rakaposhi Gorro sighed and changed her jacket. Again. She swapped it from a short, leather one to a wool-lined jeans jacket. Maybe the black leather was too much.  
  
“Shall I drop you off, mom?” Jagathai stood in the doorway of his mother’s bedroom.  
  
Arlette smiled. “That’s really not necessary, sweetheart.”  
  
“But what if you want to have a drink?” Jagathai put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. A hint of a grin tugged at his smile as he avoided her searching gaze. “Or go with him?”  
  
Arlette’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing as she put her hands on her hips. “Jagathai Batsaikhan Gorro!”  
  
Jagathai grinned. “Have fun, mom. Khulan and I will be fine.”  
  
Arlette smiled but shook her head. “I have a night shift, I can’t.”  
  
“A little fun, just a teeny tiny bit,” Jagathai said. He picked up the leather jacket. The embroidered horses on the back had faded. It was older than Khulan. He smiled and held it up for her.  
  
“You think? Really?”  
  
Jagathai nodded.  
  
Arlette put the jacket on again and looked at herself in the mirror once more. “Really?” she asked again.  
  
Jagathai nodded. “You look nice, mom.”  
  
She smiled and hugged him close. Jagathai returned the hug and put his head on her shoulder for a moment.  
  
“Khulan will stay at the Dorns till after dinner - 9:15.” Arlette picked up her messenger bag and rummaged around in it, looking for the car keys. “She’s on her bike and has a key but make sure she comes home and brushes her teeth, okay? I won’t be back until morning if there’s anything, anything at all? Call me.”  
  
“I will, mom.” Jagathai smiled. She was nervous, he could tell. He hoped she’d let herself enjoy her dinner with Chief Valdor. He seemed a nice enough man, for a cop.  
  
She dropped the car keys, and he picked them up. “C’ mon, let’s go.”  
  
She smiled and nodded. “Yes.”  
  
Jagathai returned her smile. It made him happy to see her happy. Their life hadn’t been easy. She deserved it.  
  


* * *

  
  
The ‘Four Lobsters’ was a nice restaurant. Not too fancy or expensive, but nice. People dressed up when they went here. There were little vases of fresh flowers on the tables and beautiful white tablecloths. A good place for a casual date. Casual. Yes, that was what this was: a casual date.  
  
Chief Constantin Valdor inspected the card as he waited for Arlette. They had a lovely table for two near the window with a view on the harbour. He was trying to decide which wine to order. That’s what you did, right? Order wine? Women loved wine. Did she like wine? He didn’t actually know.  
  
“Have you been able to make a choice, sir?” The waitress smiled at him. She wore the same, neat, suit as the waiter that had asked him previously. It looked nice on her.  
  
Constantin panicked. Not physically, not visually, but inside. His brain shut down, his thoughts went blank. He stared at the card. Say something. Order wine. WINE.  
  
“Uhm. Yes. Ah.” His voice protested. He swallowed, then scraped it. “That is to say.”  
  
“Perhaps, iced water?” The waitress smiled kindly, her smile sweet. He felt like she stared right into his soul. She knew. She knew exactly what a giant fool he was making of himself.  
  
She smiled encouragingly. “Then after, you can decide together what to drink when the lady or gentleman arrives—.”  
  
“Lady!” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The waitress her smile never even faltered. What a hero. He could never do this work, he’d shoot every single idiot like himself. He wiped a napkin past his forehead. “Yes, water. Iced water is great. Thank you.”  
  
The iced water arrived, and it wasn’t much later that Arlette came, too, and Constantin was lost for sensible words once more.  
  
“Good evening, Chief Valdor,” Arlette said as she approached their table. She wore neat jeans and a wide, light blouse that brought out the warmth in her dark skin. She’d combined it with a leather jacket, worn and well-loved. She looked nice.  
  
“Constantin,” he managed. Then wanted to kick himself.  
  
She tilted her head sideways. It made her long earrings tinkle, and he engraved the sound into a memory. She smiled. “Constantin. It’s good to see you.”  
  
“You too. You look nice.” Jesus, could it get any worse? He felt like a complete idiot. At least she smiled.  
  
Arlette reached for the free chair as she put her bag down.  
  
“Oh, wait, let me—.” Constantin jumped up, narrowly grabbing his own chair to keep it from toppling backwards.  
  
“You really don’t have to, it’s okay!” Arlette said, her tone somehow apologetic as he hurried around the table to take her chair.  
  
“Of course I do.” Constantin held out her chair and helped her sit down, then put her bag on the ground beside her where she could easily reach it.  
  
Arlette chuckled. “Thank you, Constantin.”  
  
Constantin poured her a glass of water. She smiled and took a sip, then nursed the drink between her hands.  
  
“How are the kids?” He was at a complete loss for topics. He hadn’t been on a date since… He smiled faintly. ‘Since the last ice age,’ his little girl would have said.  
  
“They’re good, fine even. Khulan is at the Dorns, playing Dungeons & Dragons with her friends. Jagathai found a new job, he might be able to take photographs for the newspaper - he has an eye for it.”  
  
“That’s great, wonderful.” Constantin leaned forward. “The newspaper? Impressive. I’m sure they’ll like his work.”  
  
Arlette nodded, smiling a little. She was proud of Jagathai. She knew he would go places if he got the chance to show his ability. He may not have his father’s instinctual insight into the complicated workings of the world, but he had his eye for detail and patience.  
  
Constantin smiled too. “The little nerds are playing their make-belief game? I wish I had that kind of imagination.”  
  
She chuckled. “Six hours, can you believe it? They played for six hours straight last weekend.”  
  
“Heh, I can’t say anything.” Constantin leaned back in his seat. “I watch TV for 12 hours a day and sleep for the other 12 hours!”  
  
Arlette’s smile broadened, and for a moment she laughed, clear and genuine. “You’re funny, Constantin.”  
  
Arlette looked at her glass. Khulan was very creative but also a sensitive child. She feared her daughter got that last trait from her. Her imagination, however, that was all her dad. Double, even, twice as wild. Arlette smiled, but it was a sad smile, remembering the charts taped to the walls, the complicated schematics haphazardly drafted on the blackboard. His hair in a tousled bun, a streak of white chalk on his brown cheek and that look about him like he’d just stumbled onto the most exciting thing in the world. Altan. She wondered where he was.  
  
Constantin saw her expression fall. He had to do something, fast. “There are many jobs that require imagination, she’ll do as great as Jagathai. I am sure.”  
  
Arlette glanced up at him. “Maybe? I hope so.”  
  
Constantin reached across the table to give her shoulder a light squeeze. “She could become a teacher or maybe a scientist? I never understood that stuff, but she’s a smart kid—.”  
  
Arlette’s expression turned positively heartbreaking at his comment. Too late, he remembered her ex-husband, and the father of her children, had been a scientist. Shit. Emergency plan. Emergency plan! Say something funny. “Unless, of course, it is as Mrs Doyle claims.” Constantin leaned more towards her, his expression an over-acted look of concern. “And they’re worshipping Satan, right now.”  
  
A smile broke through her sad frown, and he was relieved to see it. She made a dismissive gesture. “That boring woman wouldn’t know fun if it bit her.” She chuckled guiltily as she leaned towards him, too.  
  
Constantin grinned. “Certainly not like we do.”  
  
Her eyes widened, and she gave him a little shove but grinned too. “Chief Valdor!”  
  
Constantin grinned and then held out the wine card to Arlette. “I tried to decide on a bottle of wine, but I’m no good at this.”  
  
Arlette took it and looked over the broad assortment. What should she pick? What did he like? “I don’t know Stan. I’m not much of a wine drinker, to be honest.”  
  
Constantine smiled at her abbreviating his name. He thought he liked it. “Its a little unconventional but we could have a beer?”  
  
Arlette smiled. “I much prefer beer - though only one, I have a night shift.”  
  
“Yes, only one.” Constantin grinned as he leaned towards her. “No drunken nurses.”  
  
They ordered a light local lager and shared a large plate of fish and chips, giving up entirely on the pretence of a formal date. They had a good time, and in the end, that was all that mattered.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dr Altan Rimbauer walked up the concrete walkway to the personnel entrance of Haven National Laboratory. The complex sat in the foothills some 2-3 km from New Havenshire. Though Altan didn’t live there, many of His colleagues did. A number lock sealed the door. Altan checked His watch. 17:58. He pursed His lips and waited. The parking lot was deserted. Despite having a 3-digits number of employees, there were few cars. He wondered if they walked here from New Havenshire? You could, it wasn’t too far. Altan checked His watch once more. 18:01. Excellent. He flipped the lock’s protective cover open and put in the evening code: 4271. The door opened with a thoughtful click.  
  
The hall beyond was concrete from floor to ceiling, and the automatic TL-lights blinking on as Altan entered didn’t particularly improve its drearily depressing atmosphere. He climbed the steel grate stairs, His steps echoing up the stairwell. Five floors. There was a lift, of course, but He never took it. He had always preferred the open paternoster but recognised the vast majority of humanity felt the exact opposite. On the fifth and top floor, He pushed open the nondescript double doors and entered into a bright and neat office corridor with walls of glass and dark carpet. He made His way to the large office in the middle of the hallway, overlooking the sprawl of low-rise laboratory halls.  
  
“Good evening, Dr Rimbauer!”  
  
“Evening, Atharva. Did you cut your hair? It looks good.”  
  
Atharva beamed. “I did! Thank you, Doctor.” The lean secretary was somewhere in his early 20s and liked to play solitaire in between his tasks. His black hair was artfully mused up, and the tips had recently been dyed blond. The contrast with his dark skin was stunning. He handed Altan his correspondence.  
  
“How’s your boyfriend? Did he settle in well?” Altan asked as He leafed through the envelopes and inter-office communications.  
  
Atharva rolled his eyes up. “Nothing but complaints New Havenshire doesn’t have a Macy’s!”  
  
Altan looked up and smiled. “Maybe he can petition mayor Lupercal?”  
  
Atharva grinned. “Fat chance until re-election time.”  
  
“When are you planning to go home?” Altan stacked the papers. Nothing urgent.  
  
“I would like to leave at eight, Doctor.”  
  
“That’s fine. Give my regards to Hathor.” Altan walked on to the office and knocked then immediately entered.  
  
“Ah, if it isn’t my favourite theoretical physicist. And precisely on time, as ever. Come in, Altan.”  
  
Altan inclined his head. “Dr Bile.”  
  
Dr Fabius Bile rose and walked around his desk. “Fabius, please. We know each other for quite a long enough while now, Altan.”  
  
Altan smiled but only just.  
  
Fabius handed him a bundle of keys and two keycards. Standing beside each other, they couldn’t look more different despite both being tall men somewhere past the age of parent but before elderly. Hawkish featured, keen of gaze and prone to squint just so, they both had that particular air eccentric scientists are prone to. However, there, the similarities ended. Altan’s dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, his eyes a warm amber shade lighter than His olive skin. In stark contrast, Fabius’ hair its steely grey was rivalled only by the cold blue of his eyes, his skin pale and sallow.  
  
Dr Fabius Bile was the director of the Haven National Laboratory, but he didn’t care to work at night. Dr Altan Rimbauer was an independent researcher that he had hired to fill in during the night hours. They had followed some of the same classes, decades ago. Fabius had always admired Him a little, He was a competent man with revolutionary ideas. They disagreed vehemently on certain things, but that was hardly a flaw. The man could think for Himself, and it made His agreement, when it did happen, all the more meaningful. Fabius considered he was doing his colleague a favour, pulling Him out of the University attic and into proper industry. Perhaps if He’d done so sooner, His marriage hadn’t run aground. Fabius wondered if they realised how close to each other they were and suppressed a smirk.  
  
Altan accepted the items with a curt not. “How’s the little one?”  
  
Fabius stopped, his hand on the doorpost. “I thought you wanted no part of that project?”  
  
“I don’t.” Altan sat down behind the desk and put the papers on it. He looked up, the question still in His eyes.  
  
Fabius pursed his lips. “The child is fine.”  
  
Altan nodded and returned His attention to the papers. “Good.”  
  
“I’ll see you in the morning, Altan.” Fabius smiled wryly. “Try not to burn down the building in my absence.”  
  
An amused noise escaped Altan, recalling the unfortunate chemistry experiment that had rendered their entire dorm unrentable. “Do I ever.”  
  
Fabius laughed, then knocked on the doorpost. “See you tomorrow.”  
  
Altan suppressed a smile. “Don’t lay awake.”  
  
When Fabius had left, Altan took his wallet from his pocket and folded it open. A faint smile returned to His lips as He ran His thumb across the pictures there. The kids would be a little older now… He wondered where they were. “I’m sorry, Arlette,” he said to her smiling image.   
  
After a moment, He put it on the desk, propping it up like a makeshift photo frame and got to work.


	2. The Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing are soon to be traumatized party of child protagonists. (Not Including the one whose already traumatized and abused)

**“** Something is coming. Something hungry for blood.” Sigismund Dorn intoned.

Jenetia Krole rolled her eyes.

“Is it the Demogorgon?” Nathaniel Garro asked.

“We’re screwed if it’s a demogoron.” Kaavyn Shrike said.

Sigismund smiles and placed the Demogorgon model on the board. Sigismund is a classically handsome boy with his close cropped gold hair and his blue eyes. There’s a rare mischievous glint in his eyes, for It is usually Shrike or Jen who are the Dungeon Master. 

“Khulan your action?” He asks.

Khulan Rakoposhi Gorro blinks. Unlike Jenetia, whose skin is pale and hair the color of freshly spelt blood, Khulan is olive skinned, with long wavy dark hair, thatcher mother and big brother Jagathai love helping her style and take care of. 

“Fireball him.” Shrike suggested. Shrike is a slender boy with hair and eyes the colo rof raven feathers and an earnest smile,

“Too risky. Cast protection.” Nathaniel Garro, a boy whose patrician features make him seem older and more solemn than his twelve and three quarter years advised..

“Fireball him!” Shrike urges.

Khulan decides to fireball the demogorgon. She rolls the dice. She hopes she gets a thirteen or higher but one of them falls under the table.

Her friends shot up and start scrambling for the missing die.

“Where is it?” Nathaniel asked.

I don’t know.” Khulan said as she got on her hands and knees and started scanning the basement floor.

“Is it a thirteen?” Shrike asked.

“I don’t know!” Khulan said in exasperation.

The door to the basement opened.

“Sigismund it’s fifteen after!” His father Rogal said.

Sigismund sighed, if it was Friday or Saturday he could ask his father for another fifteen minutes, but it was a school night. 

"Alright Dad!" Sigismund replied. He couldn't believe it was 9:15 already.

Oh well.

"There's still a piece of pizza left ,does anybody want it?" Nathaniel Garro asked.

"No." The other kids chorused.

Sigismund and the other kids made their way up the stairs, while Khulan continued to search for the missing die. Her heart sank when she found it. 

She had rolled a seven.

Jenetia looked at Khulan with a conspiratorial smile.

"If Sigismund didnt see it it doesn't count." Jen said.

The two girls collected their things and climbed the basement steps

. 

The Dorn's house was built like a fortress, as it had been constructed during the height of the Cold War. The chances of the Ruskies nuking a place like New Havenshire Connecticut was rather low but the house had a sense of security that few homes could match . The house had been unowned since 1889, until Rogal Dorn and his wife purchased it in 2004. 

When the children made their way onto the main floor of the house Nathaniel paused outside of Sigismund's sisters room.

"Hey Yvriane do you want this last piece of pizza? Its from Big E's." The boy said with a smile.

Nathaniel's smile fell when the teenage girl rose not to accept the slice but to shut the door in his face.

“There’s something wrong with your sister.” Nathaniel said.

“What are you talking about?” Sigismund asked.

“She’s got a stick up her butt.” Shrike supplied.

“It because she’s dating that douche bag Roboute Gulliman.” Jenetia said as she mounted her bike.

“She’s become a real jerk!” Shrike said as he pedaled off.

“My sister’s always been a real jerk.” Sigismund said.

“Nuh-uh. Remember that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder Tree. Campaig?.” Garro said as he pedaled off.

‘Four years ago!” Sigismund grumbled.

“It was a seven.” Khulan said as she tied her hair back and grabbed her white and red helmet with the Lightning Bolt her big brother Jagahati had painted on.

“Huh?” Sigismund said.

“The roll. It was a seven. The demogorgon. it got me.” Khulan said as she mounted her bike and rode off.

Sigismund waved goodbye to Khulan. The outdoor light flickered, but Sigismund paid it no mind.

Khulan had the best bike in their little party, a Kyzagan 3, white and red like her helmet. The Kyzagan was an import, handmade by the modern day Mongoliians. Jagahati and his best friend Qin Xa had further improved the already impressive bicycle, improving its handling and speed, along with more ergonomic handle bars, better reflectors and a more comfortable chair. He had even mounted a military grade flashlight in between the handlebars. 

“Race you to my place? Winner gets a comic.” Garro asked her.

“Any comic?” Khalun asked.

“Yup!” Garro said.

Khulan grinned. “I’ll take your Gi Joe #26!” Khulan said and left him in the dust. 

Khulan could not stop grinning as she made he way back home. Tomorrow morning would be great. Mom would tell her and Jagahatai about her date with Chief Valdor, and Garro would bring her a new comic for her collection. 

She wasn’t too far from home soon she-

The light on her bike went out, than flickered back on. Khalun squinted. There was someone- no something in the middle of the road. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.

Khulan swerved out of the way, her bike skidding down the hill. She fell off and cried out in pain.

Whatever she saw in the middle of the road growled 

She lay they, whimpering. Blinking back tears, Khulan staggered to her feet. She pulled the key to the house out of her pocket and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Her heart sinks. Mom isn’t back from her date. And Jaghatai isn’t back from seeing the new Godzilla with Qin Xa and his mom.

She unlocks the door the house and locks it behind her. The family dog, a half Welsh Corgi, half Tiberian Mastiff named Buster began barking at the door.

Khulan ran to the rotary phone and dialed the police department. 

"Hello? Lieutenant Ra? Officer Marbo?"

There was nothing but static and growling on the other end.

Khulan heard the sound of the front door being unlocked.

Leaving the useless phone off the hook. Khulan ran out the back door of the house to the shed where an M1A1 carbine owned by her mother's grandfather rested on a rack.

She slammed the shed door behind her and flicked on the sole lightbulb.

Khulan grabbed the venerable firearm and the two magazines off the work bench. The girl's hands shook as she fumbled to put a magazine in the weapon and chamber a round.

For a while she stood there, hands trembling, her breathing, heavy and unsteady due to her fear.

The light flickered, and Khulan turned to face the source of the growling behind her.


	3. Nightshift Nightmare

Altan looked up at the knock on his office door. “Yes?”  
  
It was Atharva. “I have filed everything. The board meeting tomorrow has been rescheduled to next week. I’m going home. Have a good evening, Doctor.”  
  
Altan glanced at his watch. It was already eight? “You too, Atharva. Give Hathor my regards.”  
  
Atharva smiled. “See you!”  
  
Altan had already returned His attention to His sprawling calculation. It didn’t add up, and it was likely why they’d had problems calibrating the exact angles. He’d spend most of the past two months attempting to solve it. He squinted. No, that couldn’t be it. Could it be that simple? He adjusted the numbers. The calculation balanced. He put His pen down and stared at His notepad.  
  
The calculation balanced.  
  
He jumped up, ignored the top-heavy desk chair falling over and grabbed his notepad as he ran out of the office. He raced down the office corridor, down four stairs with two steps at a time and hit the palm-scan to the laboratories with his whole hand. He sprinted down the laboratory hall and struggled into a lab coat on the run.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dr Lotara Sarrin put down the screwdriver and chewed her bottom lip. They had tried every angular alignment they could think of. Nothing worked. She was squatting in front of an enormous, segmented globe. It lay dormant amid its rings, slumbering on its scuffed pedestal. She all but jumped out of her skin when the double lab doors burst open, shattering the insulated silence.  
  
“Tell me this is correct!” Dr Altan Rimbauer thrust a notepad into her hands. It was covered in His cramped handwriting.  
  
Lotara frowned and checked the equation, her eyes getting wider as she went. “Yes, yes, it looks it. You solved it? I do think— Yes!” She looked up, excited.  
  
Altan stood with His hands on His knees, breathing hard from His sprint. He gestured to her and then the dormant core. “Let’s do it.”  
  
Lotara picked up her abandoned screwdriver and went to work, the notepad in hand. She carefully aligned the angles of the intersecting rings to reflect the calculated values. When Altan had regained His composure, He helped her adjust the heavy rings.  
  
“If this is it…” Lotara gazed up at the device as Altan verified the adjustments they’d made.  
  
He glanced at her as He came to stand beside her. “It’d certainly be something.”  
  
Their confidence was low, they’d done this exact dance more than a dozen times with nothing to show for it. They stared at it for a long moment. Would this be the time it worked? It seemed exactly the same as every other time.   
  
“Angron, could you lend us a hand lifting it into its frame?” Lotara asked.  
  
The brawny mechanic glanced up from the novella he’d been reading, the kind you could buy for 2 dollars at the supermarket. He took his boots off the cable and coffee mug covered control station and rose. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll hit it - works for our TV every time.”  
  
Lotara suppressed a smile.  
  
The three of them lifted the cumbersome thing and put it on the platform designed for it. When they turned their equipment on, it would be exactly at the highest gradient area of the electric field the devices would generate. Once it was securely in place, they moved to the control station.  
  
“Ready?” Lotara said.  
  
Angron crossed his arms, eyeing the contraption. Electric fields didn’t agree with him, but he refused to leave her side.  
  
Altan nodded, leaning his hands on the desk.  
  
“Here goes.” Lotara flipped the necessary switches. The field hummed to life. The globe rose and hung motionless. Nothing happened for a breathless moment. And then the rings moved on their own. A ripple pulled through reality as they aligned. The air around the core shivered, its surface indistinct.  
  
Altan pursed His lips as it hung there, shimmering. “I have a bad feeling about this.”  
  
Lotara stared. “Is it… working?”  
  
Altan’s frowned deepened. “Yes. Yes, I fear it is.”  
  
Forks of lightning arched across the desk. Angron throw-shoved the two scientists behind him. Sparks jumped between the power towers. There was a loud bang and everything powered down. The globe. The machines. The lights. Everything. An emergency alarm started blaring in the distance.  
  
Lotara cocked her head sideways, listening to the alarm. “That’s not us.”  
  
All three of them looked at the alarm above their laboratory entrance. It was dark and still as ever.  
  
Altan squinted, a frown creasing his dark brow. “That’s the direction of Bile’s laboratory.”  
  
“I thought he didn’t work overnight?” Lotara looked at her colleague. She didn’t like the way His frown became markedly deeper.  
  
“He doesn’t. I am going to fire her.”  
  
Altan turned on His heels and dashed out of the laboratory, the door swinging in His wake.  
  
“That sounds bad,” Angron observed with the emotional involvement of a teaspoon.  
  
Lotara frowned and bit her lip as she watched the door slow its swings. She had a bad, bad feeling about this.  
  


* * *

  
  
Altan swiped His access card past the detector with the barely contained rage of an imploding neutron star. He stalked into the observatory, high above the experiment hall, and gazed upon the utter chaos below. The lights had all but gone out. Electric wires sparked in the half-dark. Scientists and engineers ran about trying to contain whatever was going on down there.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded.  
  
“Conducting an experiment.” Dr Igori Bile, adopted daughter of Dr Fabius Bile, turned away from the windowpanes to look at Him.  
  
“For which you have no clearance!” He unceremoniously shoved her aside and hit the emergency keys that would set off the facility wide evacuation alarm which she had clearly neglected to press. “You’re putting everyone in danger. If that worked - if she was able to - we don’t know what we’re dealing with!”  
  
Igori smiled, pleased with herself. He was livid, which meant He too had come to the same conclusions as her. She turned back to look at the chaos below. It was a free for all now. Everyone tried to get the hell out of there now that the evacuation displays were flashing. She clasped her hands behind her back in a perfect imitation of her father. “It worked.”   
  
“You’re fired.”  
  
She turned on Him as if stung. “You can’t do that!”  
  
He glared at her. “I can, and I am.”  
  
She squared her jaw. “Dr Bile will hire me back in the morning.”  
  
“You’re still fired.” Altan held up His hand. “Give me your ID and access card.”  
  
Her expression turned positively venomous, but she handed them over.  
  
“Come on, out.” He directed her away from the windowpanes and out of the observation deck. The door clicked into its lock behind them, its access panel flashing red as it locked.   
  
He marched her down the hall. When two members of the emergency team appeared around the corner, He hailed them.  
  
“Yes, Dr Rimbauer?”  
  
“See to it that Dr Bile reaches the emergency rendezvous area safely.”  
  
“Certainly, Doctor.”  
  
Igori shot Him a vicious glare over her shoulder as they escorted her away. Altan sighed. Problems for later. He turned around and jogged back into the facility the second they were out of sight. He had to find her.  
  


* * *

  
  
Altan ran down the steel spiral stairs, pushing and shoving past everyone else trying to go in the exact opposite direction. He ran across the experiment hall to the isolation tank. It was empty, the saltwater still. Where was she?  
  
He cast his gaze about. It was a mess. Fallen equipment everywhere. Discarded documents. But then He saw them - a wet trail of little foot-shaped puddles lighting up in the flickering and failing lights overhead. It veered off to the right, in the direction of the laboratory ‘kitchen’ where equipment was cleaned and sterilised. It was the only exit that didn’t require an entry card: it had no door out of the laboratory.  
  
As he ran down the hallway, he heard a crash and seconds later a ten-year-old in a drenched hospital gown came fleeing into the hall. She froze when she saw Him.  
  
Altan breathed a sigh of relief. She seemed unharmed, if scared. Small wonder, no one had bothered to think of her. He struggled to keep His anger from His face and keep His expression neutral. “Come on, let’s go, it’s not safe right now.”  
  
Her eyes grew large with fear. “No. No!”  
  
At first, He thought she pointed at Him. But then He heard it. A low sort of growl. There was something strange about it, something unnatural. Not quite like a dog or an engine. It came from somewhere behind Him. Igori had said it had worked. He steeled His nerves, not bothering to glance over His shoulder. The girl’s ever more terrified expression told Him everything He needed to know.   
  
He snatched her up and ran as fast as His long legs would carry Him. Her thin arms wrapped around His neck like a small vice as she held on. She was terrified. He vaulted around the corner, down the second corridor and into one of the kitchens. He put her down and took her hand, guiding her into the gloomy room. He knew there was a storage cupboard at the end.  
  
He sat down on His haunches so that He was at eye-height with her. “I know it’s scary, but we have to hide for a little bit, can you do that?”  
  
She nodded uncertainly.  
  
“I will tell you a poem, and you need to remember it, OK? It will open the doors.”  
  
She nodded again, even more slowly.  
  
“It goes like this: four apples in two trees, seven feet apart under one bright sun. Can you repeat that for me? Imagine them as you speak.”  
  
“Four apples and two trees,” she said, her voice barely more than a frightened whisper. She imagined each of them clearly in her mind’s eye. “Seven feet. One sun?”  
  
“Good, very good.” He forced a smile onto His face as she climbed into the cupboard. He took her face in both hands. “You’re strong. Just sit very quietly, then when you hear nothing any more, run all the way back we came. Then follow the green signs.”  
  
She nodded again, pulling her knees up under her chin. When He rose, she grabbed His sleeve. “Don’t go.”  
  
The look she gave Him threw Him two years into the past and cut straight into His soul. He tried to smile through the sudden and keen pain He felt and said what He’d said then too: “I have to go.”  
  
She slowly let go and huddled into a tighter ball. He could feel her eyes on Him as He made His way to the other side of the kitchen. He hid between two shelves, closed His eyes and waited.  
  
Before long, the growling noise returned. It seemed louder, firmer, somehow. More real. A shadow fell through the doorway, stuttering and misshapen in the flickering lights of the hall. Altan clenched His fists at His side and waited. He could feel its presence, bloated and wrong. He held His breath, counting His heartbeats to keep Himself grounded. An acrid smell of sulphur and decomposition that reminded Him pungently of vomit wafted into the kitchen. He only just resisted the urge to gag.  
  
It moved along the shelves, searching. It knew they were there, Altan was sure of it. He willed it to come in His direction, but it didn’t. It was moving away. Towards the back of the room. It moved in that direction because it heard keenly what Altan managed to hear only just on the edge of his senses: a soft sob.  
  
Panic kicked Him straight in the gut. It had found her. He had to do something. Anything. Now. NOW! He jumped out of His hiding place and grabbed the nearest solid object - a panning sieve, it turned out, to remove impurities from chemical solutions. He took it in both hands and hit it against the aluminium shelves. The noise was earsplitting.  
  
The screeching roar that followed in its wake made Altan’s knees all but buckle. It sounded pained. Good. He forced His legs to move, jogging out of the kitchen and sprinting down the hallway, hitting every single solid surface He passed with the pan as He went.  
  
He glanced over His shoulder as He ran, saw what was following Him and regretted it immediately as terror latched onto His thoughts. He dashed blindly forward and vaulted around the corner. And came face to face with a dead end. He’d forgotten this section didn’t have an exit. The old door was sealed up. He backed up against it, staring at the monstrosity lumbering towards Him. It was curiously unreal, and part of Him expected to wake up any moment now. He knew He wouldn’t, that this, unfortunately, wasn’t a nightmare. Not one you could wake up from, anyway.  
  
His gaze jumped around the hallway and found the security camera sitting there. No light shone. Its digital eye dead. Or so He hoped.  
  
He took a deep breath and closed His eyes. He let His terror wash over Him, gathering it together, concentrating it within Himself. Cold sweat ran down between His shoulders. Lightning forked among His fingertips as He opened His eyes, his face set in grim determination.  
  
The abomination lunged as He thrust His hands forward, shouting in defiance. Lightning arched. Reality ripped, time stopped, and one breathless moment everything was suspended in the flickering light of frying industrial lamps. And then everything came surging back at twice its regular pace. The shockwave slammed Him against the wall as a reverberating boom shook the corridor.  
  
Altan struggled up into a sitting position. His head span as He blinked against the light. The monstrosity was gone. No trace but splashes of something vile around the corridor. He rubbed the back of His hand past His nose. It came away bloody.  
  
He rose, every inch of His body hurting. He looked at the camera, it was a ruin. He turned to the door, intending to try it even though He knew perfectly well it was sealed. And then He saw her, on the other side. Small, drenched, terrified. But outside. And relief swept part of His pain away for a moment. She stared up at Him, her hand reaching to the reinforced glass. He sank to His haunches, like He had earlier, and reached for the glass too. Their fingertips met. Her hand was so small compared to his.   
  
‘Run’ He mouthed.   
  
She stared at Him for a long moment and then she turned and fled into the darkness of the night.


	4. The Warden who was once an Operator.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing one of the handful of adults who aren't complete assholes, Constantin Valdor.
> 
> I'd like to thank the amazing lontau and asklotarasarrin for letting me borrow their OC's Shadow- Captain Branwen and Custodes Arturia Blackhawk for this fic.

Rare was the morning the New Havenshire Chief of Police awoke with a smile on his face. Constanin Valdor was a compassionate man, but that did not mean he was always a happy one.

For the moment, he was happy. After all, last night was the first time he had been a date that had actually gone very well.

With a groan, Valdor shook the sleep from his eyes and rose from his bed. His clock read 6:57 AM. He showered, applied deodorant and shaved. After he was done shaving, Valdor dressed in his duty uniform and looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes Valdor hardly recognized himself. He was a man in his late 30s with dark hair styled in a Mohawk and whose skin was a canvas of old scars and tanned weathered skin. 

Valdor's hands were calloused and his happiness in his eyes at his successful date last night couldn’t fully hide the weariness, a life of violence and grief had embedded in them. 

With another sigh he grabbed his gun belt, which save for the sheathed Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife had all the things on it, a cop was supposed to have. He went to his closet and pulled out the HK416 Assault Rifle that was his rifle of choice when shit hit the fan. Most of the officers under his service used old M16A2s or Remington 870s if the issued Glock 17 didn’t cut it. 

Stan field stripped the rifle. He could do it blind folded if necessary. It was a simple task, unlike life itself, which Valdor had found to be complex and tragic.

He sighed again, trying to hold on to that happiness from the date as he gathered his other equipment and made his way to his old Crown Vic.

* * *

  
  


The New Havenshire Police Department was a quaint building. One might mistake it for a gift shop were it not for the stars and stripes fluttering lazily in the wind, the parked vehicles outside and the blocky blue text that stated the building’s purpose.

While the building may have been subpar. Stan had been blessed with good, if somewhat eccentric officers. He had eleven officers under his command, six of them were ex military, and all were smart, dedicated subordinates. 

“How was the date chief?” Lieutenant Ra Endymion asked with a sly smile.

Stan bit back a groan of frustration.

“Come on sir, give us the details.” Stan’s other Lieutenant, a big strapping former Marine by the name of Leman Russ said with a laugh as he took a bite out of a donut.

“It went well. I didn’t make a fool out of myself.” Valdor said as he took a coconut and chocolate donut from the box and poured himself a mug of coffee. 

“That’s it?” Detective Branwen called from her desk.

“Its all that needs to be said Lyceaus. And it certainly went better than the girl you tried to set me up with.” Stan said as he made his way to his office 

The donut scalping, pansexual disaster who happened to be his best detective had the decency to blush

“Glad of you to show up Chief.” The station’s secretary and only civilian employee Celestine said. She was a tall, striking woman, professionally dressed with her dark hair in a bob. 

“Mr. Qruze called, said some kids stole his gnomes from his garden again…” 

“Gnomes, huh, Send the rookie Loken over to handle it.” Stan said in between bites of donut. 

“On a more pressing matter, Ms. Gorro called. Her daughter Khulan is missing.”

Stan’s blood ran cold. Usually he had to remind Celestine that mornings were for coffee and contemplation and not for badgering him for what passed for crime in the sleepy little town his mother spent her childhood in, 

“Did she leave a message or did she come to the station?” Stan asked as he shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth. 

Stan almost spilled his coffee as he found the woman he went on a date with sitting across his desk

* * *

  
  


“I have been waiting an hour.” Arlette Amon Rakaposhi Gorro said. She’s pacing back and forth, trying to light a cigarette with a cheap Bic lighter.

“ I apologize.” Stan says as his fingers clacked across the keyboard of his tired Dell laptop.

“  _ An Hour.  _ Chief Valdor.” she says. She’s still trying to light a cigarette. 

Valdor sighs and hands Arlette a battered zippo lighter with  _ 504th PIR 5/10/43  _ engraved onto it 

Arlette nods in thanks as she lights her cigarette.

“I understand Ms. Gorro.” Valdor said as she handed him back the lighter.

“Is there a chance she’s playing Hooky?” Valdor asked her. He was trying and failing to be professional. He knew there was a snowball’s chance in hell the girl was.

“Not my Khulan.” Arlette said fiercely.

Valdor sighed and sipped his coffee. In mind he’s running through all the questions he’s supposed to ask somebody in this scenario. 

“I hate to ask, but have you heard from Altan?”

“He has nothing to do with this.” Arlette said. She ran a hand through her hair

“There were always rumors, you know, about New Havenshire. Ghosts and stuff.” Arlette said. She’s staring at the floor.

Stan sighs, he’s heard all the old stories too. New Havenshire, had a haunted hospital, ghosts of dead militiamen, and dead slave. Other supernatural shit that had cropped up in the towns history.

“Arlette, I need you to listen to me.” He injects some warmth into his voice. 

“This isn't that Netflix show, whose name escapes me at the moment, this isn’t the X-Files. Kid goes missing, ninety-nine times out of a hundred the kid's with a parent or relative.”

“What about the one time?” She looks up from the floor.

“What?” Stan says.

“You said ninety nine times out of a hundred. What about the one time-

“Arlette this is New Havenshire. I’ve been here four years, besides an attempted robbery do you know what the worst thing, I’ve seen here?”

“When that Owl attacked Lillth Hesparax’s Great Aunt. It thought her head was a nest.”

Arlette chuckles dryly. She sniffs her cigarette and sits down.

“I’ll call Altan tonight. He’ll talk to me before he talks to a cop.”

Stan looks at Arlette. There is nothing composed about her. Her hands are shaking, her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. Her hair half combed.

“ _ Find my daughter Stan. Find her. _ ”

“I will.” he promises her. 


	5. The Warden who was once an Operator, The Mother, and missing Cleric

Stan and his two detectives parked their cars at the side of the road.

Stan takes the right side of the road, while Branwen and Arturia take the left.

“Khalun Gorro!” Arturia yells. Branwen whistles shirley,

Stan prefers not to waste his energy on pointless effort, he scans the ground looking for anything out of the ordinary. Leaves crunch beneath his boots and he takes he pauses to take his pills, It is an unusually warm autumn day, meaning it’s probably going to rain later tonight. 

His foot bumps into something hard and metallic. Half obscured by leaves is a child’s bike.

“Hey I got something!” Valdor shouts.

His detectives rush over,

“Looks like she crashed.” Arturia says

These is no blood. No footprints. Only the abandoned bike and some scraped bark.

“Maybe she got hurt in the crash?” Branwen says as she reaches into the pocket of her black cardigan for a half eaten Hershey bar.

” Not so hurt she couldn’t walk if home. A bike is like a Cadillac to these kids. Not to mention it’s a Kyzagan 3, a very expensive Christmas gift to leave outside..”

“Well what if she broke her arm or something?” Brawnen says in between bites of chocolate.

The gears in his head were turning. Could Khalun have hit her head? Or had a Good Samaritan picked her up and taken her to a hospital? Or had someone posing as a Good Samaritan offered to take the little girl home, only to drug her and take her away?

Stan looks at the bike. Someone could have run her off the road, even with the bike reflectors and heavy duty front light. But if the girl had been hurt, perhaps she tried to get home, but got lost in the woods? Possible, but that sounded too optimistic for a bitter, hardened man like Stan.

Something clicked. What if someone had been chasing the girl, and she crashed? That would explain the bike. Khalun would have ran home.

He grabbed the bike. “We’re heading to the Gorro’s.” Stan orders his detectives.

* * *

  
  
  


“And it was just lying there?” Arlette asks in between puffs of a cigarette. 

“Yes.” Stan says. He’s fighting the temptation to ask for one, even though he’s only smoked cigars.

“Was there any blood?” Her son asks He’s a tall handsome boy, his hair is a messy ponytail, and he’s wearing an old Iron Maiden t shirt and worn out jeans with more patches then denim.

“No. You said Khalun has a key to the house?” Stan asks as he scans their interior of their little house. It’s a cozy little place. Perpetually in organized Chaos, with dishes in the sink, a motorcycle engine resting on an old dining room table and tools and books and other things scattered throughout the residence.

Not a place Stan would, wanna necessarily live in, but one he could admire and appreciate in the way one who once had family could. 

“Of course.” Arlette says.

“Then maybe she came back.” Stan said as he began walking around the living room. 

“Are you saying I didn’t check my own house?” Arlette says in an offended tone.

“I didn’t say that.” He replies He inspects the back door. There’s a big dent from where the door slammed into the adjacent wall. 

“This always been here?” He asks as the gears in his head keep turning.

“Probably? I have two children Stan!” Arlette says with folded arms.

Arturia coughs into her elbow.

Stan hears a dog barking. He makes his way outside. The Gorro’s animal is yapping at the shed. 

“What’s up with him?” Stan asks.

“Probably just hungry, I’ll get him inside.” Jagahati offers.

Stan opens the shed on and flicks on the light. Arlette follows him Both the physical and mental lightbulb click.

“My grandfather’s carbine is missing.” Arlette says. Stan can’t hear her. He’s somewhere else. Old instincts bubble to the surface. Something is wrong. The light is flickering. Something happened here. Something terrible and unnatural. 

Stan turned and left the shed.

  
  


“Call Celestine. Have her get a search party together. Have them bring flashlights. Guns if they have them too” Stan orders Branwen.


End file.
